


she's a silver lining

by IncognitoDuck11



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Alex is a gay mess, Alternate Universe, F/F, Getting Together, Half-Siblings, Post-Break Up, Siblings, Trans Female Character, spencer isn't here but she might make an appearance, the drake sisters grew up together, wren's here for like two seconds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncognitoDuck11/pseuds/IncognitoDuck11
Summary: Charlotte looked out at the parking lot. “Anyway, what I’m trying to ask is: are you happy?”“Define happy,” Alex said, sighing heavily.“Content. Okay with your life.”Alex picked at the skin around her thumbnail. “Then no. I miss Spence, I’m basically using Wren, and I just feel aimless, Char. I don’t know.”Charlotte reached over to squeeze her shoulder. “Well, if you need a change, you can always come back home with me,” offered Charlotte. “Rosewood still sucks, but I know there’s someone there you’d probably like to see.”“Who?”“Little miss feather earrings."
Relationships: Alex Drake/Aria Montgomery, Charlotte DiLaurentis & Alex Drake
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	she's a silver lining

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo... this is the start of a multi-chapter fic that I haven't written yet. It's been sitting in my WIP folder for months, so I decided to just go ahead and post it to see if it will push me to actually write the whole story. If not, no harm done, but I would recommend not reading if an unfinished story would really bother you. Suggestions for things you'd like to see in this fic are welcome! It might help me write faster :D
> 
> Title from "R U Mine?" by Arctic Monkeys

-.-.-.-

Alex sat slumped against a hard concrete wall, staring at the floor and trying in vain to ward off the headache that had spent the better part of three hours tormenting her. 

The past ten hours were a blur. She vaguely remembered stumbling out of a club and squinting up at a flickering yellow street light, feeling warm as muffled bass thundered up into the soles of her feet. The next thing she could remember was being stopped by a police car pulling up beside her, and the flashing blue lights had made her eyeballs ache. A weary-faced cop had breathalyzed her and made her walk a (not-so) straight line, then clicked shiny handcuffs around her wrists and dumped her in the back of the squad car. 

She’d had a mugshot taken and her fingers pressed against a pad of ink, and then they'd put her in a long room with hard benches and a couple other similarly intoxicated people milling about. It smelled like piss and vomit in there, but the drunk tank was nothing she wasn't used to. It was seven hours of dozing off upright and then jerking awake, feeling nauseous or having the urge to pee but not daring to use the metal toilet tucked in a nasty alcove off to one side of the cell. When her senses started to come back to her, she had all the time in the world to think about everything and nothing. Now she was on the homestretch. 

Her feet hurt, her brain hurt, her back hurt. Her makeup was probably smudged and her outfit was filthy. She wanted to go home, kick off these killer heels, and take a hot, lengthy shower. Brush her teeth, which felt downright fuzzy and smelled foul. Crash into bed and burrow under the covers so she could sleep for a whole fucking month. 

She tried not to think about how long she had left in here, and it went by that much faster. It reminded her of high school; she knew that staring at the clock only made detention last an eternity. Thank _god_ she was out of that hellhole, but it wasn't like real life was treating her much better.

Her twenty-first birthday had recently passed, but she hadn't seen any of her old friends. Even Spencer only shot her a half-assed text and a stupid GIF, and they shared the same goddamn birthday. She missed all of them, but they were scattered in different corners of the country, carving out lives for themselves. And her twin, who was never not at her side growing up, was living hundreds of miles away, juggling a hefty course-load from whichever Ivy League it was she'd gotten a scholarship to. She didn't have time to worry about Alex, and Alex didn't blame her. 

So she drank. Worked odd, shitty bartending jobs and lived with Wren in a halfway decent apartment. She used him mostly as a way to distract herself from the gaping hole in her life, the sense that something was missing, but that was probably all over now.

 _Crap_. 

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and scrubbed at her face with the heels of her hands. So much for going home and napping. She hadn’t thought about it until now, but the whole reason she'd gone out to drink herself stupid was that she'd had yet another fight with Wren. 

They were always fine, until they weren't. She didn't even remember what they'd been fighting about this time, but it had ended rather nastily, with raised voices and slamming doors. Alex wasn't sure she even had a boyfriend anymore, didn't know if she _wanted_ one after this. 

“Drake?” A stern voice called, and a portion of the wall of bars in front of her slid open. She looked up groggily, shaken from her thoughts. “You're out of here, kid.” 

Relieved, she peeled herself off the unforgiving bench and shuffled towards freedom. The guard didn't blink at her disheveled appearance, and led her to a room with a desk, where another grumpy-faced cop slid a plastic bag full of her belongings across to her. He handed her a set of papers that she didn't bother looking at, and buzzed her through to the lobby. 

“Oh, thank god.” 

Alex’s lips quirked in a tired but genuine smile as she caught sight of Charlotte, looking relieved and impatient and as stylish as ever. As she approached, her sister slid a pair of sunglasses off the top of her blonde head, handing them over when Alex was in range. 

“You look like absolute hell,” she said in lieu of greeting, and Alex gratefully donned the sunglasses as they made their way to the exit. “Rough night, baby girl?” 

“No, the raccoon eyes are a stylistic choice,” she said sarcastically. “Of _course_ I had a rough night. Jesus Christ, get me out of here already.” 

Charlotte's heels clicked as they crossed the lobby, and she shot Alex a curious look. “Did you and Wren have another fight? You know you can always stay with me if you don't want to go back.” 

"I just might take you up on that offer," Alex said. She winced at the bright morning sun as they pushed out into the parking lot. “And yeah. We had another fight.”

That earned her a sympathetic hum. “That’s the third time this month, Alex. What's going on? Is this about feeling trapped?” 

“Maybe partially,” she admitted. “But how would you know?” 

Charlotte smirked as they reached her pretty red Camaro. “Oh, please, you and Spencer both act just like me. Spence is inclined to a more academic brand of ambition, but you, my dear, have always been the embodiment of the rebellious little shit I was in high school. I've taught you well.” She yanked open the car door and slipped into the driver’s seat. 

Alex hopped into the passenger’s side. “Free spirit aside, what does that have to do with my potentially developing a serious drinking problem.” 

Her sister started the car but didn't make an effort to put it in drive yet, instead twisting in her seat. Apparently, they were having a talk. “Everything,” was her answer. “You remember when I was grounded all the time?” 

“Vaguely. I mean, I was a stupid ten year old, but I remember you and mom had some pretty intense fights.” 

“After I finished transitioning, you know, I got really depressed. I mean, I finally felt like myself, don't get me wrong, but it was a lot to go through as a kid. And I didn't know how to deal with it, so I acted out. As one does.” 

Alex huffed a bit impatiently. “Yeah, but I'm not a teenager.” 

“I know, but if you're anything like me, you drown all of your painful bullshit in sex and alcohol.” 

“Doesn't _everyone_?” 

“To a degree, yes, I guess they do. But that's not my point. My point is: there's a big difference between having fun and self-destructing.” 

With a scoff, Alex shook her head and leaned it back against the headrest. “Hello, psych degree. I thought you majored in business or something.” 

“I did. But I minored in psychology. If you haven’t noticed, mental illness runs in the family, Lex, and I was curious what that meant.” Charlotte looked out at the parking lot. “Anyway, what I’m trying to ask is: are you happy?” 

“Define happy,” Alex said, sighing heavily. 

“Content. Okay with your life.” 

Alex picked at the skin around her thumbnail. “Then no. I miss Spence, I’m basically using Wren, and I just feel aimless, Char. I don’t know.” 

Charlotte reached over to squeeze her shoulder. “So you’re struggling. It happens, sweetheart. It’ll pass.” 

“But what if it doesn’t?” Alex murmured. “What if I just keep getting older and nothing changes?” 

“Well, if you need a change, you can always come back home with me,” offered Charlotte. “Rosewood still sucks, but I know there’s someone there you’d probably like to see.” 

“Who?” 

“Little miss feather earrings. She’s back in town, writing a book. We talked about you the other day.” Charlotte shot her a knowing look. 

Alex felt her stomach twist up into knots. Sure, she missed Spencer, but Aria was second on that list. She’d considered her her best friend once upon a time. More than Spencer. More than Ali or Hanna or Emily. But they’d grown apart, as friends tended to do after high school. Maybe reuniting with her would shake something up in Alex. It might even be useful; Aria knew all kinds of people in the art world, and Alex’s only real hobby was drawing comics in her spare time. Maybe if she really focused, made the right connections, she could make something out of it. It was an idea, at least, and Alex quickly made up her mind on whether or not to pursue it. 

“Okay.” 

Charlotte raised a brow. “Okay…? 

“I’ll come with you. And I’ll talk to Aria.” 

Charlotte grinned at her. “Sounds like a plan.” 

-.-.-.- 

Wren wasn’t very happy with her. 

“You’re leaving me?” he blurted, following her into the bedroom. She rummaged in the closet for her suitcase, tossed it onto the bed and started pulling clothes off hangers. “What the hell, Alex? I thought we were… I thought we were _fine_.” 

“Wren, please,” Alex said, shoving all of her stuff—she didn’t have much, really—into the suitcase. She grabbed her sketchbook and pens off the bedside table, her phone charger, and the scented candle she’d bought herself for her birthday, and threw it all in on top of her clothes. That was it. That was her life. It all fit into one bag, which was kind of depressing, but convenient, at least. “I need to get out of here.” 

He grabbed her wrist, pulled her to a stop. “Why? Alex, talk to me.” 

“I just want to leave,” she said, trying to yank herself free from his iron grip. “I’m not happy. You’re not happy. This isn’t good for us.” 

He didn’t let go of her, only held her in place more forcefully. “We can fix it, then. I’ll change, I’ll stop taking double shifts. _Please_ , Alex.” 

Alex was getting fed up with him. “Wren, I don’t love you anymore!” she cried, and he dropped her arm like he’d been burned, tears welling up in his hazel eyes. 

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and slouched off into the living room. Alex let out a relieved breath, even as her heart ached, and went into the ensuite bathroom for her toiletries. She gathered up everything and dumped it into the suitcase, then she zipped it up and lugged it out into the living room. Wren was sitting on the couch, pouring himself a few fingers of scotch. 

“I’m sorry,” she said as she headed for the door. 

He made a noncommittal grunt, sniffled and wiped his eyes. “It’s fine, love. Go. Find your happiness.” It was surprisingly civil for how upset he looked, but Wren always was a gentleman. 

“Thank you.” She left her key on the island counter and walked out the door. 

Charlotte was waiting for her outside the building, the trunk of her car popped and waiting for Alex to stuff her bags inside. She hefted the suitcase into it and slammed it shut, and Charlotte tossed her the keys. 

“You drive. You look like you need to clear your head.” 

“Definitely,” said Alex, striding over to the driver’s seat. 

She hopped in and started the car, the roar of the engine sounding like freedom. 

Next stop: Rosewood. 

Home. 

-.-.-.-


End file.
